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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30022359">An Owl Away</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/koturneto/pseuds/koturneto'>koturneto</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Harry Potter, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Canon-Compliant Abuse, Cedric Diggory Lives, Coping, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, LGBTQ Themes, Lie Low At Lupin's (Harry Potter), Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Mental Health Issues, POV Minerva McGonagall, POV Multiple, Pandemics, Quarantine, Romance, Slow Burn, Teaching, pandemic au</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:49:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,975</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30022359</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/koturneto/pseuds/koturneto</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Isolate to survive - connect to heal. When a global pandemic disrupts everything around them, Minerva, Harry, Remus, and Sirius must adapt to the present, cope with their pasts, and navigate an uncertain future.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cedric Diggory/Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>HPFC Spring Fling 2021</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Beginning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Minerva gripped the arm of her chair. Solid, stable - unlike her composure, which kept threatening to drift up to the ceiling or out the door entirely. Any second now, she might wake up to sunlight peeking through her curtains, or Albus might expose a grand Weasley prank, or anything else might make more sense of these past few weeks.</p><p>Her colleagues settled into their usual spots, exchanging tight smiles instead of greetings. The shrill whistle of the tea kettle, normally muffled by boisterous stories about what the students had gotten up to today, punctuated the unease.</p><p>They were all thinking the same thing: this was it. Day by day, the rumors had morphed from a tragedy for faraway people in the back pages of the Prophet to banner headlines and blooming constellations of dots on full-page maps. Everything felt strange, and everything felt possible.</p><p>And yet.</p><p>Though her heart hammered unevenly, she forced her face calm, trying to outdo Severus’s mask on the far side of the long table. To her left, Filius all but vibrated in his blue armchair, nearly kicking her in the kneecap. Rubeus’s lips moved to himself, and he clutched something in one of his many pockets.</p><p>Albus stood, and even the scattered whispers hushed. They held their breath.</p><p>“I know many of you expect this news,” Albus said. Every low syllable echoed off the paneling. “The governors voted today to close Hogwarts classrooms through the Easter holidays.” Sybill cried out. Minerva shut her eyes for one deep breath, lips tight.</p><p>“This closure is out of an abundance of caution. There are no confirmed cases among the staff or students. We will allow this bug to run its course while we quarantine safely at home.”</p><p>Filius burst into tears. </p><p>“I know this is unprecedented. Hogwarts has always kept her doors open for magical learning, no matter the circumstances. But, I know you understand - with cases in Hogsmeade, we must do our part to flatten the curve.”</p><p>“Won’t this hurt our students?” Septima asked, leaning forward and crossing her arms. “O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s are less than three months away, and they need practical lessons.”</p><p>“Instruction will, of course, continue,” Albus said. “Via correspondence course.”</p><p>“That’s wise.” Pomona shot a pointed look around the table. “If this germ begins to spread within the castle, we’re all at risk. Our first responsibility is keeping our students safe.” Poppy nodded in agreement.</p><p>“I trust you’ll all find ways to adapt,” Albus said.</p><p>“And the Triwizard Tournament?” Alastor asked, tapping his fingers rapidly on the table.</p><p>Albus inclined his head at Igor and Olympe. “Our guests will return home as well. We expect everyone back in April, as planned. If necessary, we’ll remove spectators and take other precautions so that the tournament can resume safely.” Alastor leaned back into his seat and took another swig from his flask. </p><p>Minerva sat perfectly still and straight-backed. Despite all her foreboding, her head ached as from an unseen blow. Unexpected energy buzzed through her veins: here they were, living the impossible.</p><p>So she studied their expressions, memorized the way they sat around the table, etched into her personal history the way they heard this news. Rubeus and Severus rarely wore twin expressions as they did now, frowning into the table. Only Cuthbert Binns seemed, unsurprisingly, entirely serene.</p><p>“You will tell the students next period,” Albus said, breaking the silence that had blanketed his staff. “Cancel the lesson and direct them to begin packing at once. They’ll remain in their Houses except at mealtimes, properly distanced, until we can get them home. Argus, inventory our cleaning supplies. Poppy, section the hospital wing as you see best. Minerva-” She nodded briskly. “Please prepare a list of students who have next period free. I will inform them myself.”</p><p>Her stiff knees twinged when she stood, anchoring her to her body.  She stepped towards the door, then turned back to Albus, meeting his sharp blue eyes. After all these years, she recognized the sadness hidden in their corners. The mirror of his grief drove away the last fog of the hypothetical.</p><p>She bustled away.</p><p>***</p><p>The students floated through the hallways that afternoon on a cushion of euphoria. They fizzed with released energy, calling across to each other, “How about that!” and “Guess we don’t have to do Snape’s essay after all!” When she broke the news, her second-years had cheered and bounced with excitement about how much they were going to sleep in and all the Exploding Snap and Ridge Racer they would play.</p><p>Now, Minerva spotted Colin Creevey chattering with Zachary Bates in the third-floor corridor. “Mr. Creevey,” she said. “Were you not returning a book to the library?” She raised an eyebrow at his empty hand.</p><p>“Of course, Professor,” he said, flushing. “Just headed back to the Common Room now!”</p><p>Given the excuses she’d heard so far today, Irma must be getting half her shelves back and lending out the other half. She picked up her pace on the stairs. With nearly two hundred Portkeys to arrange and every wizard in the world heading home as fast as possible, every second counted.</p><p>She rounded another corner and grimaced at a sixth-year Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw down each other’s throats in front of the library.</p><p>“For goodness sake, it’s a three-week separation, not anyone’s deathbed!” Barely pausing, she sliced her wand through the air and they flew apart as though pulled by twin vaudeville hooks. “No need to exchange all your spit at once.”</p><p>The couple looked doe-eyed at each other, but Minerva fixed them with a blazing glare until they melted away in opposite directions. Surely they would take a long way around and reunite in a cupboard somewhere, but she’d done her part at least.</p><p>Just before the staircase to Albus’s office, Peeves strode towards her along the wall, scribbling rude words in chalk and blowing spitballs at Graham Pritchard, who blocked only about half with his Potions book. Turning to scold the poltergeist, a familiar foul smell rose in her nostrils. She vanished the Dungbomb from the bottom of her shoe without a glance.</p><p>To tell the truth, she deserved the extra holiday.</p><p><br/>
***</p><p>Minerva pressed her door with her back until the latch clicked. She conjured a bowl of warm, soapy water to wash her hands for two verses of <em>I’ve Got A Griffin</em> and exhaled out another day, another week done.</p><p>She longed for the footstool, cup of tea, and novel waiting behind the door to her quarters, but instead crossed directly to her filing cabinet. You didn’t earn a 90% pass rate with laziness.</p><p>This Friday posed a new challenge. </p><p>She opened the first drawer, pulled out the March file from the front, and leafed through the parchments: Fork to Quill demonstration, practice of the same, essay prompt, grading notes, illustrative student work. Behind those, a similar sequence repeated for topic after topic. Some ink was faded, on yellowed parchment frayed at the edges, and some was as black as beetles’ eyes.</p><p>Truthfully, the demonstration would be difficult to carry out via Owl Post, but <em>Supplementary Studies</em> had a nice diagram. Then, as long as the first-years learned the theory through the essays, they would be prepared to master the remainder their first day back. In fact, if she graded the essays to identify the weakest efforts before they returned to transform a single tine... ah, yes, perhaps this sequence would be even better...</p><p>The moon hung high in the sky when Minerva dropped her wand to her side. Along every surface in her office, stacked a dozen high, were complete, curriculum-aligned packets for every Transfiguration student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Then, each O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. pupil had a bonus review assignment tailored to their weaknesses on the last practice exam. The packets were magically labeled by home location for ease of owl assignment and alphabetized by surname thereafter.  </p><p>She waved off the lights and stepped into her inner sanctum, humming lightly to herself. She’d done it again.</p><p>***</p><p>By morning, hat boxes, pincushions, and metal spoons had already whisked away many students, so only a few dozen heads dotted the long tables in the Great Hall. From a distance, they looked like beads spread out on a bracelet, with huge spaces between each place setting.</p><p>Minerva hesitated just before reaching the front to cast a practiced <em>Scourgify</em> across her seat and table. While Argus did his best without magic, no sense in taking chances. Raising her eyebrows at Sybill on Pomona’s right - the jewelry-encrusted woman rarely deigned to descend for meals - she settled two meters to her other side and nodded hello. </p><p>“Good morning,” Pomona said. “How are you?”</p><p>“Well enough, and you?”</p><p>“I barely shut my eyes last night, worrying about everything right now.” Pomona frowned. “I hope they caught the infection soon enough in Hogsmeade. Our poor neighbors must be so on edge.”</p><p>“Lucky our students haven’t been in weeks. The pubs would be a fine place for an outbreak.”</p><p>“Too true.” Pomona reached for another sausage. “Oh, by the way - how about we plan together this afternoon? I’ve really no idea where to start. Herbology, without a greenhouse!” She shook her head, baffled. </p><p>“I’ll help you, to be sure,” Minerva said. “But my packets are already in the staffroom.”</p><p>“What - they would be! Did you pull your usual marathon? No, why do I even ask, of course you did, Minerva.”</p><p>“It wasn’t too hard.” She waved her hand. “Only a matter of selecting lessons that work in this format.”</p><p>“You amaze me. Don’t you ever have a new idea hit you in the bath on a Tuesday night?”</p><p>“Every few months, and then I’ve actually got time to add it in if I need to. I can’t fathom how you invent seven courses every day.”</p><p>“You never know exactly when the seeds, nor the students, will sprout.”</p><p>Sibyll leaned towards them and thumped her hand on the table. “My colleagues, how shall we go on? I have been searching the signs, and yet any way to teach under these circumstances escapes me like smoke from a candle. I may simply cancel lessons for the next two weeks. I see no other choice.”</p><p>“Cancel lessons?” Pomona furrowed her brows.</p><p>“You can’t be serious,” Minerva said.</p><p>“I’m afraid I am. Tell me, how many of their homes will have crystal balls, entrails, or even just the proper environment to cultivate the Sight?”</p><p>“Oh, yes.” Minerva rolled her eyes and stabbed a mushroom with her fork.</p><p>“Every element in my classroom aids in Seeing more truly, from the scent of the incense to the color of the curtains.”</p><p>“Funny how the Inner Eye is so sensitive. I suppose that’s why it rarely works anywhere else.”</p><p>“Okay, but,” Pomona hastened to forestall the familiar squabble. “Maybe we really should just cancel lessons? This transition is so disruptive for everyone, so maybe families just need the time to be together.”</p><p>“We taught through a mass manhunt, student attacks, that interminable situation with the fireplaces, and- and a war, for goodness sake, if you look back far enough. Why should this be any different?”</p><p>“Maybe it should always have been different,” Pomona said. She held Minerva’s eyes.</p><p>“This bug is a bad omen,” Sibyll declared, back to her pet subject. “If I must teach, I will instruct all seven courses to cleanse their auras as best they might without my guiding presence.”</p><p> “Well.” Minerva stood and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Speaking of cleansing, here comes Argus, and he looks like he wants to cleanse us out of the Hall. I’ll spare him the trouble.”</p><p>“Meet this afternoon?” Pomona said. “Or firecall?”</p><p>“Better be firecall. Unless I’ve got to assemble your packets myself to make sure they get out?”</p><p>Pomona laughed. “I will, I promise. See you then, my friend, or see your head anyways.”</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>March 13th, 2020 was the beginning for me.<br/>This is for you, for me, and for all of us who have been doing the best we can for the year since.</p><p>What was the beginning for you, reader? </p><p>***</p><p>A huge thank you to adayathogwarts for beta-ing, and another to the HP Fanfic Writers' Guild for all of your encouragement and support.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Number Four, Privet Drive</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry slumped in afternoon Potions, the last trial of his week, half-listening to Hermione recite her catalog of virus facts for the eleventh time. Most of her face was covered by a pale blue mask her parents sent her. Snape swept in and the class quieted.</p><p>“Hogwarts is closing,” Snape said without preamble. Harry’s lungs clenched. “An abundance of caution. Begin packing for home at once-” Snape kept talking, but any meaning slipped away from Harry’s grasp. </p><p>He rose and grabbed his bag somehow, unaware of whether Snape tried to stop him. His feet followed the hallways of their own accord; they paused while a staircase rotated beneath them and then surged forward again. A few times, cheers pulsed at the edges of his clouded consciousness. Only when he faced the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore’s office did it occur to him that people usually changed their passwords every few years.</p><p>“Lemon Drop?” he tried anyway. Nothing. “All right,” Harry said, racking his brain. “Pear Drop. Chocolate Frog. Fizzing Whizbee. Uh, what else, Licorice Wand?” He kneaded his knuckles with his other hand and scrunched his face. “Cockroach Cluster? Oh, come on!”</p><p>Just then, the wall jumped open, and before Harry could believe that “Oh, come on” was the password - though he wouldn’t put it past Dumbledore - the Headmaster himself stepped out, dressed in deep purple robes.</p><p>“Very close, Harry,” Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. “I do quite enjoy Cockroach Clusters.”</p><p>“Professor,” Harry said. “Snape told us Hogwarts is closing-”</p><p>“<em>Professor</em> Snape. Unfortunately, yes. Out of an abundance of-”</p><p>“Caution, yes, I got that, but I was wondering... I’ve been, er, writing to Padfoot. He’s back in England.”</p><p>“I know. You are not his only correspondent, Harry.” Dumbledore peered over his glasses. “But I imagine - and I usually imagine correctly - that you did not leave class midway through merely to tell me about letters to a mutual friend?”</p><p>“Right, well. With Hogwarts closing, I was wondering if it would be okay to stay with him until the holidays? Instead of… you know?” His voice wavered. The little silver stars on Dumbledore’s robes drifted in every direction, reversing when they collided.</p><p>Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. “I am afraid not. It would cause far too many complications.”</p><p>“Complications?” said Harry, tone heating as he grasped for his dwindling hope.</p><p>“For one, you are aware of his current lodging situation, yes?” Harry grimaced and looked away, and Dumbledore spread his arms. “There you are. That alone is enough reason not to host guests.”</p><p>“I could rent a room, take some galleons from Gringotts-”</p><p>“Ah, if anything were that simple. I would not care to explain to the Ministry why one of my students is so far from his home during a lockdown. They might even decide to check up.” He fixed Harry with an apologetic look. “We wouldn’t want that for Padfoot.”</p><p>“Professor, you’re <em>the</em> Albus Dumbledore-”</p><p>“These are uncertain times,” Dumbledore said, a new edge in his voice and eyes flickering behind Harry. “For many reasons, your home with your relatives is the safest place for you. I cannot, and will not, tell you everything I know. You must trust me.” He brought his bright blue eyes back to rest on Harry’s.</p><p>Harry hesitated under the weight of the words. Part of him wanted to shout and protest and raise a racket right there in the hallway. But, Dumbledore stuck up for Hagrid after Rita Skeeter’s horrible article, and Dumbledore enabled Sirius’s escape in the first place. While he burned to know those secret reasons Dumbledore wouldn’t tell, he owed him trust.</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>***</p><p>The Ministry official glanced at his pocket watch for the fourth time and shuffled from foot to foot. He cleared his throat. “A- Are your parents- oh, well, I don’t mean parents, sorry, how could I mean parents? But, er, are your… guardians… anyone… coming for you?”</p><p>“Guess not,” Harry said quietly. Warmth rose in his cheeks. “I’ll take the Knight Bus from here, thank you.” He clenched his trunk handle and drew his wand.</p><p>“Ah, well, it could be dangerous. Safety precautions and all.” The man looked around as though he still hoped Harry’s guardians, or maybe a hungry tiger, would spare him the awkwardness of chaperoning an abandoned Boy Who Lived. “But I couldn’t Side-Along without permission, and too much contact anyways…” </p><p>“Really, I’m fine, I’ve just remembered my uncle changed plans this morning.” The official narrowed his eyes, and Harry shrugged, palms up. Hopefully the lie was convincing enough. “I’m so sorry.”</p><p>“All right, then, could’ve mentioned that before I froze my toes in Guildford for this long.” He glared, turned on the spot, and vanished with a crack before Harry could say another word.</p><p>A few minutes later, the Knight Bus screeched to a stop in the middle of the block, and Harry climbed aboard. Instead of the brass bedsteads from his previous ride, the interior was dotted with mismatched, plastic-covered armchairs that slid across the floor at every turn, an uncomfortable number of travelers packed between them. Harry stood in a corner and tried not to touch anything but his trunk. An old witch near him coughed once, twice, and the passengers muttered and cringed away.</p><p>He couldn’t see any pattern in the route the Bus took, and he swore it doubled back a few times, but at last, it spat him out onto the Little Whinging sidewalk. He sucked fresh air into his lungs and turned to face the looming residence.</p><p>Harry’s heart hammered in his chest as he approached. He could still turn back now. </p><p>Despite Dumbledore’s warning - and Sirius’s scribbled confirmation that same evening when Harry wrote him, just in case - the cave seemed more and more inviting the closer he got to the brown door and tidy flower boxes.</p><p>Or maybe Mrs. Weasley would take him in?</p><p>Or he could disappear onto the streets?</p><p>He exhaled and gripped his trunk harder, closed the distance, and knocked. For a long moment, nothing moved. He tried again.</p><p>At the third knock, the curtains twitched and Aunt Petunia’s familiar eyes poked out between them. Then the fabric whipped shut.</p><p>Harry scuffed his trainer, stomach sinking as he waited. Would she leave him out here? He hadn’t meant it about the streets.</p><p>The door cracked open, and a figure covered in white plastic stepped out. She - too slim for his uncle or cousin - only poked out from the hooded suit at her extremities, and even those were armored with purple gloves, a round white mask, and safety glasses. She pushed one flat hand towards Harry to ward him off; the other clutched a white spray bottle like a firearm.</p><p>Without warning, a shower of mist assaulted his face. “What the?” he tried to yell, but he coughed and spluttered instead as he inhaled the spray. Turning away just exposed his eyes to the line of fire.</p><p>Hedwig hooted in distress, and her pain shocked Harry to grab her cage and flee to the middle of the street. He removed his glasses and wiped his watering eyes with the bottom of his shirt, then glared through the indignity of it at the alien figure of his aunt.</p><p>“What - was - that?” He bit his tongue to hold back more.</p><p>“I don’t know why you’re here,” Aunt Petunia said. “But if you think you can just turn up, put us all in danger-”</p><p>“In danger? My eyes are in danger, I’ll be lucky if I can see again.”</p><p>“Listen here, boy,” she said. “In case your kind doesn’t know yet, we can’t be too careful these days. But Vernon’s right: if I leave you on my doorstep, another flying petri dish or twelve will show up to complain, so just let me sanitize you already before any more outside air gets in.” She punctuated this speech with forceful sprays along his remaining luggage.</p><p>Harry crossed his arms. “No. You’ve done enough.”</p><p>He saw her hesitate, glance to the open door, up to the neighbors’ windows, back at him in the street. </p><p>“All right. Hurry!”</p><p>Harry grabbed his trunk and pushed through the door. Aunt Petunia retreated backward as he came through, still holding her spray bottle between them like a shield. Despite his clouded vision, the hall looked like the supply base for a small army, with a maze of toilet paper, cleaning wipes, and canned food stacked up to his waist.</p><p>Aunt Petunia led him through the narrow path to the stairs, then up and around the corner to his bedroom. She wrenched the door open and fired another generous spray across the threshold. Impatient to be away, Harry screwed his eyes up, held his breath, and dashed through. The lock clicked behind him. The spray bottle hissed again.</p><p>Harry was getting a headache.</p><p>He bent down and opened the loose floorboard where he kept his stash of water and snacks. Grabbing one bottle, he went first to Hedwig. She blinked, thank goodness, eyes angry but clear. He poured some water into his hand and ran it through her feathers. Then he wiped his hands on his jeans and repeated the process for his own face and burning eyes.</p><p>Chest heaving, the last adrenaline leaked out of him and Harry slumped onto his bed. Was it only afternoon? Maybe he would rest just for a moment…</p><p>***</p><p>A loud banging noise startled Harry awake. Disoriented, he reached for his wand; his fingers scrabbled on bare nightstand before he remembered where he was.</p><p>“Bathroom, five minutes,” bellowed Uncle Vernon from outside the door. The lock clicked, heavy footsteps strode away, and a slam barricaded the master bedroom.</p><p>Though still groggy, Harry hurried across the hallway. He felt twelve years old again.</p><p>Exactly five minutes later, the lock clicked back.</p><p>“Now, listen,” Uncle Vernon said from the other side of the door. “We don’t know what sort of funny germs you may have brought back with you. Frankly, we barely know why you’re here, supposed they would just lock you down in that circus school and save us the trouble.”</p><p>“Don’t-” Harry’s exhaustion warred with his anger.</p><p>“But of course your kind wouldn’t have any proper safety protocols, would they, so I guess we’re stuck with you.” Harry clenched his fists harder with every word. “You know how the rules work: You do not leave your room, ever, except for twice a day to use the bathroom. Meals through the flap. Clear?”</p><p>Harry boiled over. “Not clear,” he said, muscles jumping in his jaw. “Not at all. Forgot my godfather, did you? He’s been checking up on me all year, and he knows I’m here. He’ll be keen to know I’m treated well.”</p><p>“Don’t- don’t you threaten me,” Uncle Vernon said. “I’ll lock up that bird of yours, put those bars back on your window.”</p><p>“No, you won’t.” Harry pulled his shoulders back and square. “For one, you won’t come near me. You just said, what kind of funny germs could I be carrying? For two, Hedwig’s already out.” He warned Hedwig with his eyes to bluff with him. “If she can’t get back, she knows who to go to.”</p><p>The dual threats hung between them. Harry’s stomach growled, hoping that Uncle Vernon didn't decide against those meals after all.</p><p>“We’re just trying to keep safe.” Uncle Vernon thumped the door on the last word, and Harry managed not to flinch. “Petunia wants to do the right thing, follow the rules-”</p><p>“Safe? Look, the less I see of any of you, the better. I’ll keep my distance if you will.”</p><p>Harry practically saw the gears turning slowly in his uncle’s head. “You’ll stay away from us,” Uncle Vernon said. “You’ll wipe down every surface you touch or so much as look at.”</p><p>“I will. And-” he had a burst of inspiration, thinking of Hermione “-I’ll wear a mask whenever I leave my room. But I keep my trunk and Hedwig can come and go.”</p><p>“Discreetly. If the neighbors see…”</p><p>“Of course.” He pinched a finger with his other hand to keep his voice steady; was it that easy?</p><p>“But you have to stay here, or the bathroom. The living room is to relax, and we don’t want to think about you. Don’t touch the kitchen either, Petunia won’t want you there. She’d rather keep bringing you food.”</p><p>Harry weighed these requests. He hated giving up anything, but he also hated that living room. And cooking. “Fine. But no lock.”</p><p>They both fell silent. Harry imagined his uncle on the other side of the door, straining his brain for some other way to make Harry’s life harder without provoking him to write to Sirius.</p><p>“Vernon?” His aunt’s high voice carried up the stairs. “Are you all right?”</p><p>“Fine,” Uncle Vernon said through the door. “But don’t think you can push me around. Try it again, and I’ll show you.” Something smacked the floor. “Here’s supper. Wait until I’ve gone to grab it.” He stomped away.</p><p>After a moment, Harry reached through the cat flap to draw through a paper plate of sorry-looking leftovers, lukewarm. He sat at his desk. Given no fork, he ate with his fingers and licked them clean after each bite. The food was gone too soon, and Harry missed the endless suppers at Hogwarts.</p><p>
  <em>Hogwarts.</em>
</p><p>The reality of where he was, and wasn’t, hit him all over again. He felt dazed, and no longer from the cleaning fumes. Uncle Vernon was right: he knew how this worked. Even with the limited freedoms he’d just negotiated, the quarantine stretched before him like a crossing through a familiar desert.</p><p>And yet, usually he attended his last classes and sat exams. Usually he felt the rumbling of the Hogwarts Express beneath him and passed through the platform barrier. Usually he said a proper good-bye to his friends and then, and only then, returned to the clutches of the Dursley family and Number Four, Privet Drive.</p><p>Harry looked out at the darkening street.</p><p>
  <em>His friends.</em>
</p><p>What were Ron and Hermione up to now? Was Ron surrounded by family at the Burrow? Was Hermione at home yet? He fed Hedwig a treat. At Hogwarts, the three of them would be squished into chairs in the common room, doing homework. Well, more likely, Hermione doing it while he and Ron slacked off.</p><p>He pushed those thoughts down. Slowly, he unlaced his trainers, let Hedwig out for real, and climbed back into bed. He stared at the ceiling and examined its usual system of cracks until he fell into an uneasy sleep.</p><p>***</p><p>Harry awoke the next morning to the blankness of this place already settling into his chest. With his eyes still closed, no birds cheeped in their castle-wall nests, no Ron snored from the next four-poster, no water ran from Dean washing up before the rest of them awoke. Instead of soft, magically-woven cotton, budget sheets scratched at his ankles and the exposed skin of his belly where his shirt had ridden up. The room even <em>felt</em> magic-less. He always noticed it most during his first days back. At Hogwarts, an inner hum suffused the walls, the very air a little richer, sunlight itself livelier on his face in the morning.</p><p>Harry opened his eyes to the sickly peach walls of the smallest bedroom at Number Four, Privet Drive. His bladder ached, so he wrapped a T-shirt around his face, listened at the door for anyone else, and hurried into the bathroom.</p><p>Next, he showered: his final morning at Hogwarts and the Knight Bus and the last of the cleaning chemicals spiraled down the drain. The water lulled him into imagining he was back in the Gryffindor dorm. He would have lingered longer without the teeth-chattering memory of how Uncle Vernon liked to shut off the hot water if he took too long.</p><p>He sprayed and wiped as agreed, then headed back across the hallway and locked the door. Unsure what to do next, Harry ran through the quieter part of his Quidditch warm-up to stretch out his muscles.</p><p>At eight to ten, Uncle Vernon hammered twice on the door. Harry twisted a hand through the cat flap and maneuvered the plastic container inside. The food was cool, but it was real breakfast now, not the rabbit food of last summer. He ate greedily.</p><p>Lunch was the same, except with Aunt Petunia’s voice shrieking at him from down the hall to “get those away from me!” At first, he had no idea what she meant, and then he peeked through the flap and realized his aunt - again sheathed in her protective suit and gloves - was pointing at the empty plastic dishes like they were a dead fox on the street. Harry sighed, pulled them back in, and stacked his trash in the empty corner.</p><p>When Hedwig returned, he wrote to Ron and Hermione with an outline of his journey and the deal with the Dursleys. Harry skimmed over the details, but Ron had seen the bars and Hermione was observant; he figured they would guess. As Hedwig soared away, Harry’s spirit lightened.</p><p>The day passed somehow, in quiet, familiar boredom.</p><p>Hedwig brought him a fat envelope late that night, and Harry sliced it open to find a long missive from Hermione. A trio of blue masks also tumbled out.</p><p>
  <em>Dear Harry,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Thank goodness you sent Hedwig. I’ve been trying for two days now to hire a Post owl, but they haven’t been by. I’ve seen a couple in broad daylight - hardly subtle at all, really - so I think everyone must have the same idea. If I hadn’t heard from you tomorrow, I would have sent you a letter by the regular Post or perhaps had Viktor owl you. Please send Hedwig as often as you can, so I can save on stamps.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I thought you’d need some masks to get you started...</em>
</p><p>The letter went on, but Harry skimmed it for now, eyes too heavy and mind too sluggish for the details at the moment. He ran his fingers along the parchment anyway and smiled at Hermione’s familiar handwriting. At least he had his friends. Something to look forward to beyond these four peach walls.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For anyone needing to quarantine in an uncomfortable or unsafe situation: I see you. ♥</p><p>Thank you to adayathogwarts and snowpoppies for beta-ing this chapter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Start Again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Table four, Lupin,” Elaine said on her way into the kitchen. “Bring extra, kid spilled soda,”</p><p>Remus nodded, grabbed another handful of rags, and hustled out to the table in the corner, recently vacated by the family of six. He squirted the cleaning solution on the sticky surface and circled the cloth briskly. The lemon smelled nice, but <em>Scourgify</em> would’ve been quicker.</p><p>Too bad that this same magical efficiency meant demand for ex-professor busboys was even lower in the magical world; hence why Papa’s Pizza paid the bills this month. They hadn’t asked too many questions, probably assuming a scarred, greying man who answered a “Help Wanted” sign at a cheap pizza joint was either desperate for work or running from something.</p><p>He scrubbed the cola off a green part of the booth. Everything at Papa’s came in blocky primary colors: green on blue on yellow on red, like the Hogwarts crest mixed with water to stretch a budget. He always saw the banners in his mind, the jewels that clattered through the hourglasses in the Entrance Hall, the roiling Quidditch crowds; over-bright memories following him around his shift.</p><p>Lost in thought, Remus leaned too hard against the edge of the round table and nearly tipped it over. A second before disaster, he lunged to rebalance, which earned a glare from the blonde at table three but spared himself a loud clatter. He hunched his shoulders and ducked his head, reprimanded himself for getting caught in the past.</p><p>Three hours ‘til closing. A flat to go back to. Work, sleep, work, sleep. Repeat. Transform at the full moon. Recover. Look for a new job. Repeat.</p><p>He’d made it through the last moon at Papa’s by claiming a stomach flu that sounded just serious enough for people not to want details. So, he had a few more weeks to wipe garish tables before his next search.</p><p>He did what he needed to survive.</p><p>***</p><p>Tension hung in the air like the scent of a rotting bell pepper. Customers laughed a little less and picked tables farther apart. More orders came in for pickup and delivery, though not enough to compensate.</p><p>Remus tried not to think about the virus too much. He braced himself with cleaning spray and bleach just how he once readied his wand and the image of a balloon for a boggart. He kept his distance when he could, but you couldn’t do much in the narrow backroom. Clear, spray, wipe. Repeat. </p><p>The staff buzzed one morning about the noodle joint next door. “They just up and shut, for two weeks,” one of the waiters said in a low voice. “We gonna follow? Anyone heard anything?” Everyone speculated, but nobody knew.</p><p>Remus kept out of it, more threatened by the approaching full anyways. If he faked so much as a mild cough, they would make him quarantine past the point when the job was worth keeping anyways.</p><p>When the moon tugged at his senses, he gave his notice. The perpetual cycle started in the heavens and ended in his bones, and tore apart whatever he built between.</p><p>***</p><p>Remus pushed back his chair and threw down the classified section. Sparse, again. He twirled a pen irritably. Who would expand a payroll with the country locked down?</p><p>Even if he did ring Tesco or Reliable Janitorial, chances were that his application would be one snowflake in a blizzard of urgent need. The Muggle headlines screamed about millions of people furloughed.</p><p>He groaned and rubbed his eyes. What was the point?</p><p>And then there were his lungs, weakened by a lifetime of transformations. Maybe a few weeks’ unemployment would be healthier? </p><p>Remus inventoried all of his cupboards, then checked and rechecked the neat rows of figures in his leather notebook. He’d preserved a small cushion from his professor’s salary; the lucky editing gig this summer helped too, and his lifestyle didn’t cost much. Dumbledore’s pity still kept him in Wolfsbane every month. Yes, he could just scrape by until this all passed.</p><p>He replaced the account sheet and dropped onto his worn blue couch. He leaned his elbows on his knees, pressed his fingertips together, and looked out at his flat. Could he spend two weeks just breathing in and out, each shallow lungful dispensing with another moment that never needed to be endured again?</p><p>Wolves didn’t hibernate. But, without a pack to share the pain, he had to.</p><p>***</p><p>The news got worse. His cupboards emptied until they looked like the classifieds.</p><p>Repeat.</p><p>***</p><p>The thump on his door startled Remus towards the ceiling. He whipped his wand out of his pocket with war-honed reflexes. “Hello?” he called. Who could be here? He had a week left on rent, didn’t he? He crept on soft feet towards the face mask he’d taken to hanging next to his door.</p><p>“Remus?” came the muffled reply, too slow. Remus stopped in his tracks, heart racing, ears alert. The voice was indistinct, but his skin tingled with premonition.</p><p>“Who’s there?”</p><p>No answer.</p><p>He shifted his wand to his left hand, readied for action yet out of sight from the stairwell. His right pulled the door open.</p><p>
  <em>Sirius.</em>
</p><p>His soul knew before his eyes did, because the thin, ragged man that stood there looked as different from <em>Sirius</em> as a starless night from the Milky Way. Remus froze for a heartbeat, staring and staring, then the man staggered and fell through the doorway. Remus instinctively caught him and felt his bones through his shirt. His long, black hair was matted. </p><p>“Remus…” Sirius looked up. Like the North Star around which the sky rotates, his grey eyes pleaded familiarly from a new face with hollow cheeks, scraggly whiskers, and a greening bruise across his temple. Their gaze held, then Sirius shuddered and his head hung limp, lashes fluttering shut.</p><p>“Shit.” Remus dragged Sirius inside by the armpits and kicked the door shut. “Can you hear me?” he said. Sirius whimpered, then sank back on Remus’s chest.</p><p>Remus cast around for anything helpful, found nothing, so hooked an arm under his legs and lifted. Goddamn it, he was so light. He lay him on the couch, yanked the back cushions for more space, and slipped a pillow under his head. Sirius didn’t stir.</p><p>Bright red streaked along Remus’s arm. “Fuck.” He scrambled to roll up the stained trousers, and quite a lot of blood shone on Sirius’s left shin. “<em>Accio</em> Rag, fuck.” He pressed the cloth to the cut and thought, please let it be smaller than it looks. Please. He opened his eyes again and yes, thank goodness; his shaking hands remembered the spell for a wound this size.</p><p>“What the hell happened to you?” Remus crossed to the sink, wetted another rag, and wiped off grime and sweat, looking for more breaks in the skin. Seemed mostly intact, maybe he could bring the swelling down on these bruises, though.</p><p>One between Sirius’s neck and left armpit looked particularly nasty. Was the shoulder dislocated? No, the joint felt okay, though if he called a Healer they could take a look - should he call a Healer?</p><p>Wait, fuck, no, Sirius was on the run, he needed to be as far from authorities as possible.</p><p>Up to him, then.</p><p>He dabbed the purple bruise but hesitated at Sirius’s collar. “Where else hurts?” he asked searchingly.</p><p>Shit, still out. But what if he had broken ribs? “I’m gonna take this off, okay?” Before he could talk himself out of it, Remus slipped the threadbare robe off Sirius’s arms and pulled open the dirty shirt beneath.</p><p>His breath hitched at the sight. Another line of bruises stretched down Sirius’s left side like a purpling mountain range. With his eyes closed, limbs limp, chest barely moving, Sirius imitated death. Straight out of his nightmares.</p><p>Fuck, he needed to focus. Sirius needed him right now, and god knows Remus owed him every scrap of his attention.</p><p>Remus painstakingly checked every joint of Sirius’s body, bandaged what he needed to, and mended what he could. If the fool had been eating as little as the skin taut over his ribcage hinted, too much healing magic would overwhelm his frail frame. But after all that, Sirius’s face still convulsed in pain, and Remus dipped into his supply of potions and dripped a few precious drops between his lips.</p><p>Sirius’s muscles relaxed, and he breathed easier.</p><p>Remus sat on his heels and stared at Sirius on his couch. He felt wrung out. What was Sirius doing here? What happened? In these times-</p><p>He grabbed at his face - bare. The mask he had intended to wear still hung uselessly from the wood peg by the door.</p><p>Since Sirius called his name, the virus had never crossed his mind.</p><p>***</p><p>The night darkened, and Sirius slept on. Remus moved him into the bedroom, tended him as well as he could, but otherwise kept his distance. No good could come from lingering, a handful of used bandages dangling from his palm, questions on the tip of his tongue.</p><p>Yet he kept vigil on the couch, at the kitchen sink, pacing across the sitting room. A new routine.</p><p>An echo of an old one.</p><p>***</p><p>The bedroom door creaked open. Remus stood so quickly that he knocked his teacup off the table; he caught it in a spell just before it crashed to the ground. Gripping his wand, he righted the teacup, slowly lifted it, and set it precisely on the saucer again.</p><p>Then, he turned.</p><p>A bedraggled, bruise-mottled, but very much alive Sirius Black leaned on his door frame. Remus exhaled, releasing more anxiety than he knew he’d been holding.</p><p>“Morning, Remus,” Sirius said. He stretched his arms behind him and grimaced. “Looks like I’ve got all my limbs... though, by the feel of it, I wish otherwise.”</p><p><em>Morning, Remus.</em> How many of their happiest days had started just like that? How many-</p><p>“Afternoon, actually,” Remus said mildly. He leaned a hand on the back of the chair to steady himself. “I’m glad you’re awake.”</p><p>“Afternoon?” Sirius’s eyes widened. “Shouldn’t I feel better after sleeping, what, sixteen hours?”</p><p>Remus raised a brow. “Most of two days.”</p><p>“Two <em>days</em>?” Sirius’s jaw dropped. He rubbed his forehead, and his features scrunched when his palm traced the Snitch-sized bump on his skull.</p><p>“Sorry about that one.” Remus worried at the sleeve of his jumper. “I’ll take care of it, soon as I can.”</p><p>“Losing your touch, eh Remus?” Sirius smiled.</p><p>“You were in bad shape, okay? Had to drip soup into your mouth whenever you were here enough to get it down. Really, since you’re still hurting that much, get back to bed. Or did you want a shower? Real food?”</p><p>Sirius grinned. “Some food would be great.”</p><p>Remus nodded and headed to his cupboards. He’d weighed his admittedly limited options and determined that rice and beans would go the furthest to pad Sirius’s skeletal frame. He grabbed a pot for water, then looked back at Sirius and gestured towards the sitting room, “Come on, don’t hurt yourself. Sit over there, I’ll pull the chair across.”</p><p>Sirius stepped through the apartment like he walked on glass, then perched on the very edge of the couch.</p><p>“If you’re worried about getting it dirty,” Remus said. “Don’t. It was dirty when I pulled it off the sidewalk.”</p><p>Sirius barked a laugh, and Remus heard his laugh in the Shack, his laugh in their first flat, his laugh at their itching powder prank-</p><p>Remus shook his head clear and started the stove.</p><p>“Two days.” Sirius slapped his thighs this time. “Two more days Harry’s been with those Muggles. We’ve got to help him. We need a plan.”</p><p>Remus blinked at the “we” and hid his expression in the too-empty fridge. When he emerged, face composed, he asked, “Muggles? Harry’s at Hogwar-"</p><p>“Haven’t you been paying attention?” Sirius said, fingers digging into the fabric of his borrowed pajamas. “Hogwarts closed because of lockdown.”</p><p>“Shit, did it really? I thought Hogwarts of all places would escape this.”</p><p>Sirius shook his head. “Don’t think anywhere’s safe. So, Harry got sent to his aunt and uncle. He didn’t want to, even asked if he could stay with me, but Dumbledore’s orders.” Of course, I couldn’t leave Harry there alone, not… again.” They both cringed. “I almost got there-”</p><p>“Wait, where were you staying?” Sure as hell hadn’t eaten enough there.</p><p>“Near Hogwarts, for Harry.”</p><p>“Where?”</p><p>“Not… not with anyone.” Sirius flushed. “Do you remember that cave out of Hogsmeade, at the foot of the mountain?”</p><p>“...you lived in a cave.” Remus narrowed his eyes and twisted the dish towel. A cave? He lived in a cave?  </p><p>“Remus, it was a palace compared to-” he broke off and squirmed on the couch. “I was near Harry, okay? Could practically scent him. Strange things going on at Hogwarts, and I wanted to be close. But, stay focused, he’s with the Muggles now, so I walked to him-”</p><p>“Walked to him - from Scotland.”</p><p>“To Surrey. Yes. As Padfoot, it took me… five days, I think? Maybe six?”</p><p>“Gods.” </p><p>Sirius waved his hand. “I’ve had worse, obviously.” His gaze unfocused for a moment as he stared into nothing. Then he blinked. “And I just about made it. I was so close, just a village or two north. That’s when it all went wrong. Should’ve planned better, I know, but I hadn’t been sleeping well, and I was hungry.”</p><p>“What happened?” Remus said, tightening his fist. “Who do we have to get after?”</p><p>“Er.” Sirius looked away. “The details don’t matter. You saw the results.”</p><p>The details? The details never mattered, until you were barely talking to each other and he thought you were the spy and your best friends in the world wound up murdered. Harsh words boiled at the back of Remus’s throat: At least you care for yourself as poorly as you cared for them. For me. He swallowed the words to nestle against the guilt in his stomach.</p><p>Instead, he set a steaming bowl of food in front of Sirius. Instead, he asked: “How did you get here, then?”</p><p>“The address you sent me in June. I’d memorized it, so I wouldn’t lose it.” Sirius’s grey eyes softened.  “I could barely walk and I knew you were somewhat nearby. You were the only person I could think to come to.”</p><p>After months without a reply, Remus assumed his letter was lost in the Post or wherever Sirius was hiding. A cave. He chose a cave over him, chose to starve, until the very brink of death? He plastered on a smile. “Don’t mention it.”</p><p>Their forks clinked against the bowls, scraping every last morsel.</p><p>When he finished, Sirius heaved a sigh. “So, now it’s been two days, apparently,” he said. “We gotta get to Harry. Dumbledore says he’s staying there for now, but damned if I’m not gonna keep an eye out.”</p><p>Remus folded his arms and scrutinized Sirius. His hands gripped the couch cushion and his expression blazed, but with a distance to it too. His shallow cheeks and stringy hair were still a shock.</p><p>Sirius needed him, that much was clear. So did Harry. And, surely his staring-at-the-wall routine could bear to wait a few days.</p><p>“All right. What’s your plan?”</p><p>***</p><p>They lingered around his battered coffee table and bandied about different ideas to communicate with Harry and spy on his relatives’ house. Despite himself, Remus was swept up in it. Just like old times, their suggestions got increasingly creative and complicated as the evening crescendoed.</p><p>Truth be told, most of them were terrible and dangerous, but Remus found he strove to brighten up Sirius’s face and earn that bark of a laugh, over and over. Every strange aspect of his face yielded when he smiled. How could he mistake him for anyone but Sirius? </p><p>“You’re my muse, Remus,” Sirius said, arms flung wide like a conductor.</p><p>“You’re ridiculous.” Remus grinned, an honest one.</p><p>At that moment, he could scale a roof or don a disguise or invent a spell like a man a decade younger. He cracked his knuckles and threw out another scheme.</p><p>They ate rice and beans for supper as well. When Sirius yawned for the second time in a sentence, Remus urged him again to shower and rest. Sirius rubbed his neck and stood.</p><p>“I’d better be going,” he said slowly. “In the morning, we can decide which plan is the best and get started.”</p><p>“What, where on Earth would you go? We’re in lockdown.”</p><p>He shrugged. “I told you, as Padfoot, I can sleep almost anywhere.”</p><p>“Don’t be absurd. You’re staying here. Tell the truth, when was the last time you slept in a bed? Or had a hot shower?”</p><p>“Um… a little while. Since I got back to England, actually.” Sirius scratched behind his ear and looked away.</p><p>“You’re staying. Go wash up, I’ll fold out the couch and move my things.” When Sirius still hesitated, he added, “Look, you can’t help Harry if you’re exhausted and plagued by fleas, can you?”</p><p>“Fine,” Sirius said. “I’m taking the couch, though.” He put up a hand and added, “Don’t argue. It’ll feel like a cloud to me.”</p><p>Guilt stung again. Twelve years. “Wait, Sirius,” he said.</p><p>Sirius cocked his head, and Remus closed the distance between them before he could change his mind. He drew his wand. His other hand slid gingerly past Sirius’s ear and lifted the tangled black hair away from the pale skin. He could feel Sirius’s gaze on him. His wand tip brushed the green bruise that still distorted Sirius’s temple, and he murmured the spell that melted it away. He stepped back, exhaling in a rush.</p><p>“Thank you, Remus.” Sirius touched the healed spot.</p><p>“You’re welcome.”</p><p>The room felt too warm all of a sudden, and so Remus busied himself finding his extra towel and some clothes, then pointing Sirius towards the bathroom. He tidied a few minutes in silence, then heard the shower turn on.</p><p>If he closed his eyes, he was back in their flat. Maybe he and Sirius had spent the evening planning what gift to give three-month-old Harry, maybe James would owl them later that night about his “first word” of nonsense syllables, maybe-</p><p>Remus forced his eyes open. That past was gone.</p><p>Well, except Harry.</p><p>And, maybe, Sirius.</p><p>Hope fluttered in his chest: a small, fragile thing that knew rice and beans in this sitting room and plots spun of rough laughter, not just familiar rhythms and old memories.</p><p>Something new.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you snowpoppies for all your help as my beta for this chapter, and thank you Lunatik_Pandora for helping me talk through Remus and Sirius in my very early stages of planning.</p><p>And, thank you for reading, and please tell me what you think so far! Who are you most excited to read more about?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. A Wizard</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter contains an image that has text. I included alt-text so that it can be read by screen readers, but if you encounter any issues with this, please let me know.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry stared out the window. Only shadows moved. No cars drove by. No families took their afternoon stroll.</p><p>An hour ago, Harry had hunted for other differences. He counted the squares of pavement in view - still eleven. He checked all of the cars - still the same tasteful vehicles, with the same license plate numbers and no flying at all. He studied the hedges, where one summer, a pair of birds built a nest, before the Tall Family’s husband drove them away with his hat and swept the twigs to the pavement.</p><p>Now, Harry just stared.</p><p>True to Uncle Vernon’s word, the Dursleys spent today pretending he didn’t exist except for the meals that materialized and the doors that slammed shut when he stole out to the bathroom.</p><p>Harry gave up on the neighborhood for tonight and turned back towards his room. What to do now - stare at the wall, the ceiling, or the growing pile of disposable dishes in the corner? </p><p>His fingers itched for the grain of a broomstick or a deck of Exploding Snap cards.</p><p>A rush of flapping wings came from outside, and his heart instinctively raced. Hedwig usually hunted longer, what happened? Was she okay?</p><p>But an unfamiliar, tawny owl approached. Shoulders easing, he grinned. At last, Hermione’d secured a post owl, and never mind that she wrote already this morning, she was probably aflutter over something else from <em>Muggle Maladies</em> or the afternoon Prophet. Or maybe <em>she</em> finally heard from Ron.</p><p>The owl perched on his chair and held out its brown-speckled leg. “Thank you,” said Harry, trading a treat for the scroll. "I’ve just sent her a letter earlier, so you can go.” The owl cocked its head for a second, then hooted and left.</p><p>When Harry unrolled the letter, though, the handwriting looped and curled, unlike Hermione’s tight, hurried print. He read:</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Harry,</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>So, what do you think the third task could be? We’ve had dragons, merfolk, so what’s next - centaurs?</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Cedric</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p><em>Oh</em>, he thought, fingertips tingling. Cedric really wrote him, then. He smiled at the, “So, what do you think...” like they were picking up in the middle of a conversation.</p><p>In a way, they were. On Friday, he’d been walking back towards the castle and heard, “Harry, that you?” from up ahead in the shadowed corridor.</p><p>He had tensed at once, used to taunts from Malfoy and his acolytes. Instead, Harry looked up into Cedric Diggory’s gray eyes, crinkled by a smile. Cedric stopped in front of him.</p><p>“Hello, Cedric,” Harry said.  “Here for a Portkey? Well, I guess you would be, seeing as you live near Ron, right? I remember from the World Cup. Ron’s over there.” He chewed his lip. His brain seemed tenuously connected to his mouth today. </p><p>“Yeah, I’ve got a few minutes,” Cedric said. He shoved his hands in his pockets and tilted his head. “I’m glad I ran into you, though. What do you say we write over this break? About the tournament - try to guess what the third task will be, prepare for whatever they’ll throw at us.”</p><p>Harry wanted to nod but narrowed his eyes. Sure, Cedric helped with the egg, but he was a N.E.W.T. student and a gifted wizard. Why him? What if he wanted more tournament secrets? </p><p>“Aww, come on,” Cedric said. “You look suspicious. Hufflepuff’s honor, no tricks here. I just think we’ll stand a better chance together.” He shrugged and spread his arms, eyes twinkling. “Once we figure it out, I can beat you fair and square.”</p><p>Harry laughed. “Okay. We’ll see about that.” </p><p>A smooth voice cut through the air. “One minute to departure.” </p><p>“Shoot, that’s me. I’ll owl you, okay?” Cedric carved a six-foot arc around him, then paused, looked back, and raised his hand to wave. “See you, Harry.”</p><p>Now Harry held that promised letter in his hands, and the memory warmed him as he re-read the words.</p><p>If Cedric thought the third task could be centaurs, maybe he really did need Harry’s help. He grabbed a quill and a piece of parchment and wrote:</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Cedric,</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I can’t imagine the centaurs I’ve met listening to Bagman about anything. If you’re thinking about creatures, though, what about giant spiders? I know there are some Acromantula in the Forbidden Forest.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>He stopped and frowned at the page. Nothing they’d learned about so far in Hagrid’s class seemed intimidating enough, and he didn’t have extra bandages around to dare open The Monster Book of Monsters.</p><p>Well, he had nothing but time to think, anyway, since the owl was long gone. Too bad. Even Hedwig wouldn’t want to travel hours to Ottery St. Catchpole too many times in a row. If Ron wrote tomorrow, he would send the replies at the same time.</p><p>Cedric would understand.</p><p>***</p><p>“No, get over there! Not you, I meant him. Don’t give me that look.” Harry glared at the white knight. “You know it’s black’s turn. You’re giving me trouble on purpose.”</p><p>“You’re letting them win again, and you promised you wouldn’t.”</p><p>“Hardly,” the black queen sniffed. “We can’t help being superior.”</p><p> “Yeah,” chorused others from her side.</p><p>“Get it right, or we quit!”</p><p>“Get along, or I’ll quit,” Harry said. He groaned and cradled his head in his palms. If playing chess against yourself was a bad sign, it was far worse to argue with the pieces.</p><p>Four days had dragged on longer than a normal July. Hermione’s letters helped, but she kept rattling off the latest case statistics and reminding him to keep six feet from people - as though he ever went outside. If only he could write to Sirius, but how would that letter even go?</p><p>
  <em>Dear Snuffles,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m fine, just bored out of my mind. I hope your rat was delicious this morning!</em>
</p><p>The usual knocks for lunch interrupted his train of thought. He shushed the chess pieces and slid off his bed towards the door. He groped through the cat flap and his eyebrows shot up when his fingers slid across parchment instead of the familiar smooth plastic. The air smelled faintly burnt as well.  He brought through the food dish plus a thick packet of parchment on top of it.</p><p>The cover of the packet looked like it lost a fight with a Blast-Ended Skrewt, singed all around the edges, yet the untouched writing read:</p><p>
  
</p><p>Harry whooped aloud, then ducked until he was sure no one would yell at him for it. Like that long-ago day in a Hut-on-a-Rock, Minerva McGonagall’s curling signature promised that he wasn’t truly alone. </p><p>He skimmed the stack for Hagrid’s assignment first: “Read about different magical creatures, or better yet go talk to a few, and tell which you’d best like to keep or get to know.”</p><p>Harry laughed. He could almost hear it in Hagrid’s voice, see his eager grin to show them his - highly dangerous - recommendations, and expect to be offered a squashed cake or tooth-breaking scone.</p><p>Instead, he chewed chicken salad and read the rest of the assignments, which, unsurprisingly, were much more than one sentence long: Diagram, in detail, an Erupting Zinia. “Cleanse his aura,” which, knowing Trelawney, would probably predict his death somehow. Write a tricky-sounding essay for Professor McGonagall, which seemed like even more than a normal week’s work.</p><p>Wow, there was a lot here. He glanced out the window, where a beautiful day beckoned.</p><p>After a moment, he sighed and made himself continue.</p><p>But then, the directions alone for Snape’s essay had four words he didn’t recognize. A sinking feeling told him at least one of them was the subject of an essay he half-copied in a midnight rush after Quidditch practice. His heart rate sped up.</p><p>“Confused again, Potter?” “Another zero, I see.” Snape’s comments pounded and overlapped through his mind as if the greasy git loomed over his shoulder. “To me, Potter, you are nothing but a nasty little boy.” “Pity.” </p><p>Harry shoved both the parchments and the meal away and sprang from the chair. His feet slapped the floor of the room, back and forth, until he dropped onto his bed, and the chess pieces protested as they toppled over. He mumbled an apology but left them on the covers.</p><p>Then he regretted that rudeness, bounced up, and replaced them on their squares to play again. But he couldn’t keep distracted as the pile of homework accused him from across the room. And Hermione’s reproachful letter was probably in the air already.</p><p>As if on cue, an owl tapped at the window, and he flinched. Harry looked into the large gray’s eyes, deep in its broad face, and took a deep breath before he let it in. The owl wiggled a little as he detached one of the scrolls it carried, then dove away in a flash of silver.</p><p>This time, Harry knew the handwriting right away, and his body relaxed. He skimmed to the bottom to confirm Cedric’s signature, then started again from the top:</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Harry,</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Acromantula, at Hogwarts? Wow. And when, how, and why did you meet centaurs? I know they’re there, but I’ve always given them plenty of space. I bet you have quite a story.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Maybe not centaurs, then, but I am thinking: dragons are elementally air/fire, merfolk are water, so perhaps something to do with the earth? It could be a creature - Erumpent? Niffler? Or, a different task - dig a hole to the other side of the world? Find a treasure buried in a field? Grow flowers?</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>In all seriousness, keep the ideas coming. It may be something we don’t expect.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Cedric</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Harry chuckled. He imagined Viktor Krum in his aunt’s sunhat, kneeling in a garden bed with a trowel. He made space on his desk and sat down to reply:</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Cedric,</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Sprout would be thrilled with that last one! Krum and Fleur, not so much, though. </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>He tapped the nib against the edge of the inkwell while he debated how much to say to Cedric’s question. Only Ron, Hermione, and of course Firenze knew the full story of that night in the Forbidden Forest, of a murdered unicorn and agony in his scar and Voldemort, a dark stain on the black night. He didn’t even tell Hagrid everything.</p><p>At last, he wrote:</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p><em>In my first year, I served a detention in the Forbidden Forest.</em> (As a prefect, how would Cedric think of him for that? But the story didn’t make any sense without it.) <em>There was some trouble, and a centaur helped me out. They liked going on about astronomy, but they wouldn’t answer straight questions. I don’t think they’d help a human tournament.</em></p>
  <p>
    <em>How’s that for a task: Spend a night in the Forbidden Forest. If it were something like that, I guess I’d want to prepare spells for food, water, and of course defense. How would you go about it?</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Harry</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>P.S. Please ask the post owls to be careful when approaching my window. I live in a Muggle neighborhood.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>He rolled up the parchment and placed it on the windowsill for the next time Hedwig headed out. His eye settled again on the pile on his desk.</p><p>Cedric knew all of these spells already, and plenty more. If Harry intended to win - and perhaps to be a helpful preparations partner - he should take advantage of having free time for once. </p><p>Harry set his jaw and wiped his palms on his jeans. He looked through the pages, and even more than Hagrid’s, Flitwick’s homework about Exploding Charms seemed like it would come in handy for many possible tasks. He dug through his trunk for the textbook, flipped it open, and settled in to read the assignment.</p><p>The pages rustled as they turned.</p><p>His quill scratched against the parchment.</p><p>He traced the air with his finger, just so, to estimate the angles of the wand movement.</p><p>He marked the emphases on the syllables, tapping his toe in time.</p><p>Once, he breathed a small “<em>oh</em>” as he found the right explanation in the diagrams. On his feet, head bent, left palm pressed flat to the desktop, he didn’t hear it escape.</p><p>Then Part 5 plummeted him back into his chair.</p><p><em>How far away would the caster need to stand under these specific circumstances?</em> He started half a dozen times, he chewed his nail in thought, but he absolutely couldn’t visualize the different blast sizes. His mind felt filled with chalk.</p><p>Recoiling, he slashed an X across his latest work, crushed it as small as he could, and threw it into his trunk. His fingers flexed with the urge to pile on with hexes, but instead, he drummed his fingers on the wall and windowsill and paced the length of the smallest bedroom.</p><p>Stupid assignment. Stupid lockdown. <em>Stupid Harry,</em> said a small voice. <em>Thought you could do it on your own, did you?</em></p><p>He wandered like a kite with a cut string. He’d seen everything out the window, read his letters countless times, and the dishes were already nestled together in the corner. He tried to set up the chess set again, but he missed an opponent more than ever now, and he thought the pieces looked at him with disappointment.</p><p>With a big sigh, Harry returned to his desk and picked up the quill. He re-read the question and chewed on his lip. He imagined himself winning the third task with a well-timed explosion, or blinding a basilisk, or frightening an escaping rat long enough to capture it. He retrieved the rejected parchment and doodled different semi-circles around the blots.</p><p>His mind began to whir in the lines of the sketches.</p><p>Then, inspiration flashed like a <em>Lumos</em>, and he hurtled over to his bed to retrieve the chessboard. He moved the pieces across the squares as though he invented new game rules on the fly, muttering and measuring with bold exactness. A bishop started to object to the flurried treatment, but his king shushed him, and then the two armies fell into lockstep and worked like long-time allies under a unified command.</p><p>With a final tap on the board, the last puzzle piece in his mind flipped over and slid into place. Harry grinned, double-checked the chapter, and collapsed into his chair.</p><p>Finally. He finally understood. </p><p>His arms hung at his sides, his head tipped back, and his chest heaved like he clutched a Golden Snitch in his palm. </p><p>For a few minutes, he basked in the glow, unhurried. Now that he saw the answer, he couldn’t miss it if he tried.</p><p>But eventually, he bent again over his work, captured this insight in ink, and flipped right over to the next question. Even as he did, three quick raps came at the door. Harry jerked up to look at his clock - supper time, already? He finished the final parts as he ate.</p><p>When was the last time he’d polished off an assignment the first night he could? In his mind, Hermione’s expression melted from surprise into pride.</p><p>He started a new pile on the left of the desk. One down.</p><p>***</p><p>Harry awoke the following morning to sunlight beaming through the thin curtains and an unfamiliar curiosity about his homework. Still in his nightclothes, he browsed through the remaining instructions. </p><p>Some doubt still whispered to him: <em>You were lucky, with the chess pieces. And you’re decent at Charms, but that still took you the whole day. What more can you do in a day and a half?</em></p><p>But the lion in him refused to back down from the challenge at hand. Best to face McGonagall’s homework while fresh, with the whole day stretching ahead. </p><p>Again, he fell into a rhythm. His world became <em>Intermediate Transfiguration</em> and the parchment in front of him. </p><p>How amazing to turn one thing into something else, to feel that glorious rush of a spell channeling through you. Even though he couldn’t cast here, the page offered him reminders of that power, and his fingertips tingled.</p><p>And no Quidditch practice beckoned.</p><p>No Dementors prowled the grounds.</p><p>There was no Heir of Slytherin to catch.</p><p>Not one <em>Daily Prophet</em> article or “Potter Stinks” badge in sight.</p><p>He would trade anything to have Ron and Hermione here, roping him in to referee their latest squabble.</p><p>But, with everything else stripped away, he was a young wizard learning magic. And he loved it with his whole self.</p><p>***</p><p>For most of that day and into Friday, Harry poured all his awe and boredom, all his grit and anxiety, all his yearning for Hogwarts into the parchments. The finished pile grew. His wrist began to ache.</p><p>In the end, he needed to rush his star charts, his aura readings were nonsense, and Snape would tear his essay to shreds, but when he handed Hedwig the charmed envelope stuffed with all his work, his chest filled with so much pride that he could have cast a hundred Patronuses to deliver it Scotland.</p><p>He gently stroked the white feathers on her head. “Safe travels,” he whispered. “And say hello to Hogwarts for me. I’ll see you tomorrow, and her soon.”</p><p>***</p><p>The second weekend in Surrey trickled by. The Tall Family unloaded a trunkful of toilet paper an hour after dawn. Dudley complained about not being allowed to see his friends, every word clear as thunder through the walls. But Hedwig swooped back and forth to Hermione on Saturday evening, and Sunday brought two other owls to his window too.</p><p>Arriving first, Errol drooped to the floor like a puddle of feathers the moment he released his bundle into Harry’s hands. Hedwig eyed him from her perch. Harry set out some water and treats for them both and dove eagerly into the contents:</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Dear Harry,</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I hope Erroll made it to you in one piece. He didn’t look great after the trip to Hogwarts, but everyone’s been using Pig. Even Percy’s home, since his roommates in London “weren’t taking safety seriously enough.” </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Mum wanted to make sure you got some of the cake from the twins’ birthday. You should have seen the pranks they pulled in their own honor, said they never got Burrow birthdays anymore so they needed to make the most of it. Bloody brilliant, honestly, but I’m still scrubbing slime off my doorknob. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Let us know if you need us to break you out again. Bet Mum would do it herself.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Ron</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Relief flooded Harry. The silence had brought up more memories and worries than he cared to admit.</p><p>He had written half his reply and stored most of the cake under his floorboard when another envelope arrived with the same tawny owl that Harry recognized from Cedric’s letter a week ago.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Harry,</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Sorry about the owls - they’re actually both ours, not the post’s. I hope they didn’t get you in any trouble. I’ve told our whole flock to be more cautious on flights to you, and I’m sending Lucky again this time. She’s very reliable.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>As for your idea about the Forest, I sure hope it’s not that. I’ve only been there a few times myself. This fall, Professor Sprout asked a couple of her N.E.W.T. students to take a census of the plants near its edge. As soon as we got out of sight of the clearing, we got turned around, and it kept getting darker when we thought we were going out. We even ran across a thestral. No survival or defense spell could make me feel completely at ease in that place. But, I’ll make up a list of some that might help.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Fortunately, Elkin had the presence of mind for a Four-Point Spell, and we made our way out. To be honest, it’s awful that they sent you there for detention - as a first year! I can’t imagine, and I’m glad it ended okay.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>How about: Fight a troll. Ride a hippogriff. Cook the perfect meal for a vampire?</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Cedric</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Harry scratched Lucky’s head like the owls at school liked. “Thanks. Will you be right off again?”</p><p> Lucky settled down on the floor next to Errol and looked wide-eyed up at Harry.</p><p>“It could be a while,” he warned. She hooted and stuck out a leg.</p><p>“Okay, then.” Harry rolled his eyes, chuckling. He plopped down onto his bed and wrote:</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Cedric,</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>You may not believe me, but I’ve already done two of your three ideas. I know you’ll ask, so I may as well tell you now.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>The hippogriff is straightforward. Hagrid taught a lesson about hippogriffs when he’d barely started as a professor, so I volunteered to help out. When Buckbeak - the hippogriff - accepted me, Hagrid immediately told me to ride him. I <span class="u">don’t</span> in <span class="u">any</span> <span class="u">way</span> recommend it. A broomstick is much better. Did Hagrid teach your class the same lesson?</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Lucky whoo-ed and nudged Eroll. He still stared motionlessly into space, but the two struck up an odd conversation, and in time Hedwig chimed in too. Harry absently tossed them all another few treats. </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Okay, then the troll story. In my first year, on Halloween, remember how there was a troll in the dungeons? It headed from there to a girl’s bathroom, but when we found out Hermione was there, Ron and I ended up using a Levitation Charm to fend it off with its own club until professors got there.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Isn’t magic amazing? I’ve been thinking about that a lot recently.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Never cooked for a vampire, though. Should we start practicing recipes?</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I had few questions about your story, too. What is a Four-Point Spell? And what is a thestral? I don’t think I’ve learned about them yet.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Thank you,</em>
    <br/>
    <em>Harry</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>He creased the letter with his fingertip until it fit inside an envelope. When he held it out to Lucky, she abandoned her animated conversation with the other owls, seized the envelope, and took off straight away. Rather than fly directly into the open air, though, she darted into the nearest tree. She poked her head out of the top and swiveled around to scout for a clear coast before she forged ahead to an adjacent canopy. Harry laughed at the sight of her and her clear fidelity to Cedric’s directions.</p><p>Cedric’s family had a whole flock of owls! He wondered how many there were, and he imagined Lucky and the gray one nestled with the rest in a little owlery next to Cedric’s house, which he pictured with many crooked stories and chimneys like the Burrow-</p><p>He slapped his forehead. “Ron and Molly! Hedwig, do you want to catch up to Lucky if I finish this reply real quick?”</p><p>Hedwig hooted her approval, ready in a moment for a good race. Harry scribbled the end of the note while she nipped at his shoulder and fluffed her wings.</p><p>“All right, fine, go!” Harry tied it to her leg and grinned at her. “Have fun!"</p><p>She launched from the sill in pursuit of her new friend, and his daydreams carried him with her into the open sky. He gazed out the window for a long while after she disappeared. Same as before, nothing moved on Privet Drive, and yet so much had changed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/crlylake/">crlylake</a> for your help beta-ing this chapter.</p><p>The fonts I used in the image are <a href="https://www.harrypotterfanzone.com/fonts/hogwarts-wizard-font/">"Hogwarts Wizard"</a> and <a href="https://www.dafont.com/wedding-chardonnay.font">"Wedding Chardonnay Regular"</a>. I found the latter through <a href="https://aminoapps.com/c/harry-potter/page/blog/ilin-character-inspired-handwriting-fonts/rWTe_u0GmnegLlm8B3R1dJ5XkpMQa0">this incredible collection</a>.</p><p>The next chapter is in editing and will be up in three weeks!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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